


Pupae

by BalloonArcade



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Cultural Differences, Insecticons - Freeform, Unreliable Narrator, starving younglings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-10-21 06:58:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10680102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalloonArcade/pseuds/BalloonArcade
Summary: After a raid on the Pits of Kaon, Prowl begins to learn there is no greater ferocity than an Insecticon hive.No matter how small or mis-matched the hive.





	1. Hive

**Author's Note:**

> _{{Hive speak}}_  
>  ::Speaking over commlinks::  
> //Bond speak//

Little scientific research had ever been conducted upon the hives of Insecticons burrowed deep underground toward the core of the planet Cybertron. As the energy crisis reached its peak, the core of Cybertron was tapped and drained; hive populations began to dwindle. 

Insecticons became more than a youngling tale to the struggling population of Cybertron. Scattered remnants of hives became forced to prey on the surface for resources on the fringes of cities; survivors worked their way deeper into those above ground cities with beings that had no concept of hive.

There was no way to know the weak chortling cries and binary chirps of starving sparklings sounded remarkably similar to cries of hungry pupae for a lone Insecticon hive survivor.

Those cries of his hive - of his lost pupae - he simply could not tolerate.

Hunting, he found them. Clutched and chirping together in the above ground tunnels of the city hives without ceilings; one red, one golden, wedged as far as they could into a crack. 

Too far to be reached. 

Clever. A wise strategy to allow none to sneak up behind them, and strong - his first attempts to feed them, they lashed out with claws and teeth toward his probosces. 

For many feeding cycles he brought them nectar, and his tongue ached for the purity of the nectar of his hive, mourning for the taste now lost. Clicking and purring to them, he eventually coaxed them toward him.

They crawled out of the crack as one, already understanding the meaning of hive. In his sharp powerful jaws, he lifted them gently by the scruff of their necks, and brought them to a nest he had prepared for them in the recesses of tunnels. 

There he settled gently atop them to keep them warm - guarded - as he hummed and purred the songs of his hive to them through his plating. 

So small. 

A clutch of two was hardly a clutch at all. 

Together, they were a small hive. 

But they were hive.

_{{There is no greater ferocity than an Insecticon hive.}}_

He taught this mantra from his hive to his two ferocious pupae in the clicks, whirrs, chirrups, hisses, and growls of his hive language.

Through them, he kept hive alive.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

A whistle and a click, then the massive, ferocious, Insecticon carrying a red youngling took off in another direction.

::Fraggit! An Insecticon got out of its cage and is taking off with one of them:: Prowl cursed into his commlink as he charged after it through the dust and debris of the crumbling hallway.

The Autobot forces were performing a painstakingly planned raid on the Pits, hoping to destroy Megatron’s first foothold before he gained more allegiance and power. 

They had expected heavy resistance. 

The gladiators had answered Megatron’s rallying call as he over threw the pit bosses over a live broadcast. Jazz had worked his way deep undercover as a trader, bringing in much needed resources to the developing Decepticon cause as he spied and learned the expansive network of tunnels in Kaon's under city. 

Megatron had integrated himself into the underworld, former crime bosses and regular Kaonites alike now owing him their allegiance as he promised change, and had begun to deliver. 

His _change_ based on survival of the fittest; victory through strength.

He had begun integrating new rules for his society, a mech from any background could earn their place and status in his army - through the gladiator arena pits. 

Heavy resistance, the Autobots had planned for. 

What they hadn’t expected was to stumble upon younglings in the deadly chaos. 

Younglings who clearly had been forced to fight for their place in this new _vision_ of society. Starved, optics dim, Ratchet’s expression spoke volumes when he examined them. 

It was clear to Prowl the medic doubted the ones they had already evacuated would survive.

And their priorities changed as they scrambled to provide aid.

::I got your position, I’ll try and cut them off.:: Jazz pinged back over comms. 

As Prowl pursued the scrambling Insecticon down hallways full of exposed sparking wires, he prayed to Primus he could catch the creature before it consumed the youngling.

Another whistle and click and it changed course again, and Prowl’s spark thumped harder in its casing, battle computer taking in as much information as possible for Prowl to react to without thought. 

Someone had trained it. Someone was _calling it_ through the chaos out of sight. 

Prowl leapt and twisted out of the reach of an injured gladiator pulling themselves across the corridor, internals ripped out but still attempting to fight. The back of Prowl's cortex registered the injuries as done by a mouth with jagged teeth - the Insecticon - and a blade? 

Sliding on processed energon, he almost missed his turn, could see the Insecticon darting down a corridor to its right as he pursued course.

Catching up to the corridor, the Insecticon was heading out toward - _no_.

His spark sank as he continued pursuit.

::Jazz they are heading toward the main Pit!:: 

That’s where the heaviest fighting was happening. 

Prowl transformed, corridor mostly clear of debris, hoping he could over take the beast in his vehicle mode. 

The Insecticon cleared the gate into the main arena pit before Prowl got close. Shooting through the gate, Prowl transformed to the deafening noise of battle and tank churning scent of charred plating and processed energon.

The edge of his awareness processed the shear number of Autobots and Decepticons engaged in battle but his optics stayed locked on that large purple Insecticon darting straight through the center of the battle, a coughing and wheezing red youngling gripped tight against its underplating. 

It took a blaster hit to its backplate and hardly paused before it kept going, mechs in front of it parting as if - 

No.

\- A golden yellow mech, ahead of the Insecticon parted mechs before it, slashing out at any mech that came close, Autobots and Decepticons alike. Slicing lines, snapping necks he whistled and chirred twice, and the Insecticon diverted course toward an exit as the golden mech got held up by three opponents.

Prowl stayed course after the youngling, not pausing to fight but grabbing a spare sheet of metal to use as a disposable shield. 

Using the sheet of metal - no a torn off chunk of a gladiator’s armor - to block a few blaster bolts he cleared the area, tossed it aside, and took off down another decaying corridor, the Insecticon no longer in sight. 

Slowing his pace he attempted to listen to determine which corridor it had taken, his scans picking up nothing in the corridors. When he heard the shrieking chortle, furious hisses, and binary clicks of the beast up ahead followed by a vicious growl, he ran. 

Spark hammering, he feared he was too late.

Sliding on some spilled oil around a corridor to his left, he slammed into the back of Jazz who had snared the creature in a mesh net, attempting to pull it tighter and retrieve the youngling.

Bumblebee was darting in to nail down the tethers, and Jazz leapt onto its back, tying a line off around its neck so its lashing teeth couldn’t harm the youngling. Prowl darted in, cut the mesh and sliced at a grasping limb. The creature’s shrieking chortle and thrashing intensified as Prowl pried the red youngling out of the teeth of the creature. 

Youngling free and clutched close, Prowl backed away from the creature. The noises it made grated at his audials and the wheezing youngling in his arm pulled out a blade, but coughed out his vents too hard and it clattered to the ground. 

An enraged roar with a revving engine echoed through the corridor, and Prowl turned to see the golden gladiator mech limping his way toward them, optics flaring and simmering red, left arm hanging lifeless at his side. 

He whistled and clicked out a pattern from his vocalizer and the Insecticon in the net stilled, chittered back, and the youngling shaking in Prowl’s arms chittered out something in kind.

“Drop my youngling mech.” The words emitted from the golden mech’s vocalizer were growled and grunted as if he were unfamiliar to using words instead of the clicks he had emitted so easily.

Prowl reset his optics, and his vocalizer, but Jazz spoke first.

“Your youngling needs medical attention.” As if to punctuate the point, the red youngling in Prowl’s arms, vents wheezed as his fans sputtered and seized. 

The gladiator’s deadly gaze didn’t leave Prowl, or the youngling in his arms as he shuffled forward, energon dripping down that currently useless left arm. 

Clicking and whirring emitted from his vocalizer again and the Insecticon stirred, clicking out a -

“You’re talking to it.” Prowl gaped, as he glanced toward the Insecticon, its four yellow optics reset in his direction, no, at the youngling in his arms.

A kick hit between plating suddenly and the youngling that had been gripping his plating tighter as he wheezed, yanked on wires and Prowl hissed as the youngling squirmed out of his arms. At the same time the Insecticon spun, tearing out the stakes in the ground, smacking Bumblebee in the face with one, then rushing forward to knock Jazz out of his attempt to grasp the weakly stumbling youngling making a dart toward his creator.

The youngling scrambled up his creator’s backplating and peered out deadly dim red optics in their direction as the Insecticon scrambled, still half in the net to the golden gladiator’s side. 

Prowl's battle computer glitched static across his HUD momentarily as the Insecticon _transformed_. 

Transformed, it towered two heads taller behind the golden gladiator, shielding the red youngling from an assaults from behind -

Shielding _both_ mech and creation from behind, its transformed bulk could easily cover two mechs.

Rapid fire clicks, chirrups and whirs passed between all three of them and Prowl held up his hands as the golden gladiator took a step backwards in sync with his Insecticon, making a slow retreat. 

“Your youngling will die here in this city. You are in no condition to continue to fight for resources for him. I wager you were struggling to provide before we arrived. Come with us and you will both receive medical attention.”

Dual optics of creator and youngling narrowed in sync, a chittered whine from the youngling as he glanced toward the Insecticon’s injured claw Prowl had sliced, then spit out rapid fire clicks and growling chortles that tore uncomfortably at Prowl’s audials. 

::I think he’s mad you hurt his pet.:: Jazz observed over comms.

“Your Insecticon can be tended to as well, but it’s best we leave now. We have medics with us.”

“What’s the price?” The golden mech ground out, his grasp of basic slow and guttural.

“No -“

::He ain’t gonna come if you say no price Prowler.:: Jazz interrupted over comms and Prowl clenched his denta, hating he was right. 

Thinking quickly, Prowl didn’t want to ask for their allegiance, and blurted out the first option his battle computer offered as the golden mech and his Insecticon had taken another step back with his hesitation. 

“Guard duty.” Prowl took a step closer and Jazz gaped at his response. 

The golden mech didn’t retreat, but the growing pool of processed energon dripping from his arm was concerning so he continued forward.

“I am the Autobot second in command, more suitable for strategy behind the lines, and am in need of a guard. Your command of your Insecticon impresses me. Quite intimidating.”

The red youngling clicked out something that sounded vaguely amused then chittered something toward his creator, the Insecticon behind them huffed out its vents.

“Hands off.” The golden mech growled, his glare intensifying. 

Prowl reset his optics then caught his meaning. “Entirely professional, of course. I have no intention of taking you,” then his tanks twisted as he felt the need to add this, “either of you, into my berth.”

The glared didn’t stop, “Or my bug.”

Primus, “Or your bug,” he managed to ground out while avoiding looking at Jazz or Bumblebee to see their reactions.

The red youngling cycled out a wheezing cough from his vents again, and the Insecticon behind him rubbed his backplate with a chitter; concerned? 

The golden mech nodded in agreement, the red youngling transferred to the Insecticon and Prowl approached to assist the golden mech in detangling the Insecticon from the net, the red youngling looking at him curiously and the Insecticon growling. 

Once the Insecticon was freed, Jazz and Bumblebee lead the direction out toward their rendezvous point with Ratchet, where he and his medics were conducting repairs and attempting to stabilize those they had evacuated before they could return to Iacon. 

Prowl stayed next to his apparent new guard and his pet Insecticon. 

As the mech stumbled, he reached out to support him and only received a snarled hiss from the Insecticon in return.

The Insecticon had returned to its beast form - Primus, Prowl hadn't even known they had another form - and the red youngling sat among its spikes atop it, as his creator supported himself against the Insecticon’s neckplating. 

Reaching the surface, the golden mech clicked and chittered at the red youngling, who then climbed under their pet Insecticon for a more defensible position, and Prowl could only try not to stare.

A domesticated Insecticon. 

He'd never seen anything like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to a bizarro twins were adopted and raised by Bob head canon.
> 
> Bob is a Transformer's Prime style Insecticon - MASSIVE - but more Bob like with spikes and four yellow optics, different than the others in the series because his was the last of his hive. 
> 
> Yes, Sunstreaker is in an adult frame and Sideswipe is in a youngling frame. 
> 
> The question is, has Sunstreaker been upgraded too early or is Sideswipe too late?


	2. Resonance

There had been a time when the hummed and purred songs of his hive resonated through metal walls of tunnels, caverns and crystals under the power and magnitude of their numbers. 

And a time, like his pupae, when he had been without a name in that resonance. 

Names were to be added to hive, not given or taken, but developed; a devision of colours through a multifaceted crystal, not a one dimensional reflection. Some names fluid as core nectar, others stable as cooled ingots, added to each facet and earned through deeds for the majesty and ferocity of hive.

Names were to be built upon, added to the resonance of hive. 

When they first came to him, his pupae understood the meaning of hive so naturally. They chittered and learned in harmony, fluid and accepting to be one as part of a whole.

As they grew the questions came. 

The gold one was the one to translate his own name and attempt to solidify it to give to outsiders while watching their lives and colours with fascination. His red clutch-mate hissed to him that names were added to the resonance, refusing to attempt to solidify his own for those who had no concept or appreciation of hive.

They had bickered among themselves through their hive spark.

A private hive within a hive. Rare pupae who shared both their hive spark, and life spark between them.

The solidification and fascination of the gold one and the devision it caused had hurt, but he understood: they were hive. 

His pupae would always be hive, but they were not _of_ hive. 

And the one’s name who resonated to honor the light of glowing crystal streaks spinning about a cavern from the light crystals of hive, began to echo the loss of those same crystals to hive. His name had begun as he spun about the streets fiercely for resources of hive, and flowed as his few shiny spots of plating sent streaks of golden light throughout their cavern like those same lost light crystals.

His clutch-mate’s name had been added first for his clever tactics of escaping pursuit, mastery of stealth and tunnels. Beginning young, he would swipe hive resources, and access places previously inaccessible as diverse as the planes and sides of crystals. 

Even in the nest he was apt make tunnels to dart out from an unexpected side beneath his guardian and explore. 

When he added their names to the resonance, they chirruped, puffed out their plating and spun about with pride. So excited they were their plating resonance was off key until they could settle and focus. 

And his precious pupae set to polishing golden plating to generate more dancing crystal streaks for hive that vibrated with the resonance. 

There came a time that deception and perceptions of the outsiders was used against them for survival of hive.

Dancing crystal streaks had spun about, cast in the lights of the pit, as teeth and claw rent in a repetitive advance displaying the ferocity of hive to earn resources from the strangle hold of those who had no concept of hive. 

Weaknesses were hidden in plain sight to strengthen hive and swipe from unexpected shadows and facets.

His clever, devious and fierce pupae able to walk among non-hive, and his golden crystal light streak’s interest in outsiders and their language became an advantage.

Then there came the time his beautiful and fierce hive resonance name that had been added to the whole of hive was shortened, solidified and _given_ in a single non-melodic syllable. 

Famed for his bright and glimmering deeds against a rival hive in defense of hive, for his developed fighting movements as he alternated between down low to up high through quick and short transformation sequences to rend with teeth and claw in a repetitive advance - his sparks tore to hear his pupa give it so bluntly. 

Bob.

It hurt. But he understood. 

They were a small hive, but they were a fierce and clever hive.

A clever hive learned to hide their weaknesses from non-hive, and accept each for their strengths to work as one as part of a whole. 

To hide his pain he simply rumbled the mantra of his hive as he glared at the outsider in a frequency outsiders rarely listened, so narrow their perceptions. 

_{{There is no greater ferocity than an Insecticon hive.}}_

And it was best this particular outsider learned that.

His pupae may not be _of_ hive, but they would always _be_ hive.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

If Prowl wasn’t already isolated from the majority of the Autobots by his reputation as an emotionless hard-aft, his rumored taming of a gladiator that commanded an _Insecticon_ as a guard would have made him a pariah.

Hushed whispers and pointed looks of internal communication started before Prowl managed to lead his odd procession through the staging area, toward the Mobile Autobot Repair Bays, in the designated Cold Zone outside Kaon.

When the youngling under the Insecticon started to cycle wheezing coughs from his vents, everyone within audial range stopped to gape, his presence clinging to the creature then known. 

A few had moved to intervene and Prowl called them off as both master and Insecticon _growled_ and hissed. 

A disgusting translucent excretion from the gladiator’s pet’s mouth had stopped the leak of the mech’s energon, but his arm still hung useless at his side, and sparks had begun to shoot from between leg plating. If Prowl hadn’t watched as the gladiator instructed his Insecticon to expel the excretion, his upper arm plating would simply seem wet. 

As they had walked through the tunnels, Prowl had asked for the mech’s name and the youngling atop the Insecticon had begun to hiss out rapid fire harsh clicks until the force of his coughing ventilations and cooling fans sputtered in their whirrs. 

“Repairs and fuel first.” Had been the grating response from the youngling’s creator as he rested more of his frame across his pet to lean over and lift up plating over his youngling’s vents, attempting to assist in cooling his frame. 

When Prowl had had the youngling in his arms he had registered he was much too warm, and he had winced as he watched the youngling struggle to take a full ventilation. The way his dim red hued optics flickered as he wheezed out ventilations from his place atop the Insecticon, when within the tunnels, was worrying.

Approaching the MARB in the Cold Zone, he ensured he cut through the commchatter straight to Ratchet’s private line to inform him Prowl was entering with an overheating youngling clinging under an Insecticon, who for all intents and purposes appeared domesticated, and to warn his medical staff not to be alarmed. 

::This isn’t the time to attempt to develop a sense of humor.:: Ratchet snapped back.

::I am not joking.::

::Of course you’re not.:: Despite the conversation taking place over internal comms, he swore he could hear Ratchet huff in exasperation out his vents.

Few full scale battles had taken place between the Autobots and the growing number of Decepticons, but Prowl had already earned a reputation for the use of calculated and _unorthodox_ methods. 

Entering the MARB, Prowl processed the organized chaos as he wished his battle computer he could never turn off would stop processing so many fine details at once. 

He had known it was bad but this -

Rows of younglings hooked up to energon infusion lines, medics rushed to stabilize those they could into emergency medical stasis for transport to cryogenic regeneration chambers back in Iacon. Piles of used energon infusion tanks sat haphazardly against walls. 

Command has planned - _Prowl had planned_ \- for heavy casualties but _this_ , they hadn’t prepared the resources for this.

The three distinct solid tones of spark rate monitors above the other steady beeps haunted his audials. A fourth solid tone joined only to be cut short as the spark rate monitor was transferred to another patient.

“Why the frag didn’t you just kill the damned creature?” A large, heavily armored, field medic stormed in their direction.

Of course Ratchet had assigned _Triage_ to receive them once he mentioned the Insecticon. In the peripheral of his awareness, Prowl’s battle computer reminded him it had once registered Triage take out two Decepticons while performing surgery mid-battle. The field medic had a worse temper and disposition than the Autobot CMO.

“Because we’d rend out his spark.”

The gladiator could barely support himself on his own, but never the less, he had pushed himself up to full height by the entry way. Flaring out his plating, he rested a hand around one of his Insecticon’s spikes on its heavily armored back.

At the intense hue in his optics and his growled threat, Prowl had no doubt the mech’d find the reserves to do severe damage until he offlined. Two dim red optics mimicked his creator’s expression as the youngling crawled out from the underside of the Insecticon, settling next to his creator’s hand. 

The red youngling attempted to cycle a growl of his engine but just ended up wheezing, metal filaments dusted out of vents in small puffs. 

Triage’s hesitation was slight at the unexpected display, but Prowl’s battle computer processed a slight point seven decrease in the speed of his approach, then he diverted course to a field medberth. 

“Get ‘m up here, stat.” Triage grabbed the nozzle of a gas compressor, and adjusted the pressure gauge. “And get Goldy off that sparkin’ strut before I have to cut the whole thing off -” he tossed over his shoulder without looking away from the gauge. 

Neither the golden gladiator or his youngling moved to follow the orders. 

Both were looking at Prowl.

“Medical assistance.” The gladiator ground out the two words uncertainly, glancing at Triage and around at the organized chaos, before his optics settled back toward Prowl, and narrowed. “Repairs. Fuel. My youngling. My bug. And me.” 

“In exchange for you as my guard. As we agreed.” Prowl nodded as his tanks twisted to set a price _again_ while the red youngling’s optics cycled rapidly under another wheezing cough. 

“GET ME A COOLANT WRAP AND A FRESH TANK,” Triage yelled over the clamor. Turning to see the medberth behind him empty, he scowled toward the gladiator and Prowl, “Your audials busted? Get that little bit up here before he fries his circuits.”

“Go,” Prowl suppressed an impatient huff as he inclined his head toward the medberth, “Triage is a medic.” 

Alternating rapid fire clicks and a whistle emitted from the gladiator’s vocalizer, the Insecticon headed toward the medberth, still acting as both crutch and transport for his master and his youngling. With one final assessing glare toward Triage, the gladiator gestured with his head slightly to his youngling, who half crawled, half slid onto the medberth. 

Plating rattled against the metal surface, the youngling struggling to take a full vent looked toward his creator’s pet when it clicked and chirruped toward him as Triage inserted an energon infusion line. 

The medic began lifting up plating to blow out vents with compressed gas, and the youngling clenched his hands into tight fists as he scowled toward Triage. With one arm as leverage, his creator hopped onto the head of the berth and guided his youngling’s head to look toward him. The Insecticon settled its head in his master’s lap, and began to hum out a - purr? - through its plating. 

Prowl reset his audials. Could Insecticons purr? Or was that a growl?

Creator and creation maintained optic contact as Triage linked in to the medical port of the youngling’s wrist and the medic cursed.

“WHERE IS THAT COOLANT WR -“ First Aid dropped the wrap at the foot of the berth as he slid a spark rate monitor into place, then darted off to deposit his other arm load of supplies. 

Triage grabbed the wrap and tossed it on top of the youngling as he slid the spark rate monitor toward him with his pede and hooked it into a secondary medical port on the youngling’s wrist. It appeared it wouldn’t engage and he scowled as he checked the port then blew it clean with compressed gas and tried again.

“I’m inducing medical stasis. Little bit’s fans and vents need a complete overhaul back in Iacon, he’s frying circuits and glitching on his HUD.”

Plugging back into the medical port the youngling’s optics dimmed and went dark - 

And all colour and luster seemed to drain from his creator’s plating as he pushed Triage away. Pressing his audial against the coolant wrap over his youngling’s chestplate, he emitted a soft clicking keen, then his engine roared to life as he turned his deadly glare on Triage spitting out harsh clicks and guttural whirrs. 

A rapid sound of transformation and his Insecticon towered over the medberth, emitting a shrill audial piercing warbling shriek. 

Spark racing, Prowl moved. His battle computer in the back of his awareness taking in the scene already spitting out an explanation and he inserted himself in front of Triage’s powered up weapon and the Insecticon on the other side of the berth. 

Sensor panels on his back twitched, hoping the gladiator could call his so called _bug_ off if it lunged. 

“Stand down. Everyone stand down.” He ordered. 

Turning his head toward the gladiator behind him he addressed him directly. “Your youngling is fine. He needs further repairs, we don’t have the resources here. He’s in medial stasis for transport.”

Both gladiator and Insecticon continued to generate growls behind him.

Prowl processed the shrieks and dim cry of other younglings, other Autobots who had drawn their weapons and tore into the MARB, he sorted them away syphoning most of his processing power to solving this misunderstanding. He refused to have that youngling online to learn his creator had been offlined over this, and picked up on a soft steady beep nearby. 

“His spark rate.” Prowl pointed to the spark rate monitor as he slowly turned toward them. “That emits a steady soft beep for every spark rotation. His optics are offline because he’s in medical stasis.”

“WHAT THE FRAG IS GOING ON?!” Ratchet stormed toward them.

“Call off your bug.” Prowl ordered as he thrust out his hand toward Ratchet to stop him. “Your youngling's online. He will be repaired in Iacon. _Listen to his spark!_ ”

The gladiator offlined his own optics and tilted his head as if he were concentrating on hearing the spark rate monitor through all the background noise of other monitors, the whispers of all the Autobots and frightened younglings around them.

Onlining his optics to stare down at his youngling, he visibly lost tension in his frame as he clicked and whistled.

Upon his command his Insecticon leaned down and sniffed the youngling from helm to pede while it stared straight at Prowl as if he were to blame. 

A further series of rapid fire clicks, chirrs, and whistles emitted from the golden gladiator and with a huff, his Insecticon transformed back to its beast mode and laid down on the floor.

“Medical stasis.” The gladiator agreed with a nod to Prowl. “I hear it.”

Prowl nodded back, then looked over to meet the furious optics of Ratchet.

:: _Domesticated._ :: Ratchet spat over comms. ::I want it out of my MARB.::

::I promised him repairs for it.::

::Of course you did.:: Ratchet turned away, back to stabilizing other younglings into emergency medical stasis. ::I imagine you are already concocting battle field scenarios with more of those creatures.::

Prowl reset his optics and replayed how quickly that Insecticon had transformed, its heavy armor plating, his flee through the tunnels of the pits, blaster bolt and barely a flinch - actually he hadn’t been. But now that the suggestion had been made his battle computer had already begun to process and sort the possibilities.

::He fights with it. He wouldn’t come with his youngling without it.::

::He’s lucky it hasn’t consumed his youngling. Get it out of here. Now.::

::He agreed to come only after I promised him medical assistance for all three of them in exchange for being my guard.::

Ratchet looked over at him finally from where he had induced another youngling into emergency medical stasis, and his optics were positively glimmering.

::Oh I hope I’m around to see Optimus’ face when you tell him that.::

Prowl felt his lines run frigid. 

Frag. 

He hadn’t even considered that. 

Some so called top of the line battle computer.

The slight lowing of his sensor panels must have been noticed by Ratchet because he snarled, "You control that thing. I'm holding you personally responsible for it." 

Autobots that gathered by the entrance at the Insecticon’s screech, still remained. _Gossiping_. Crossing his arms in front of himself he glared at them, Smokescreen in particular. “I believe you mechs have duties to attend to.”

With Smokescreen involved, Prowl didn’t want to predict the diversity of the rumors that would now percolate through the ranks.

After they left, Prowl scowled toward the gladiator now watching closely to every movement as Triage wrapped the coolant wrap tight around the youngling for transport.

The Insecticon on the floor at his master’s pedes peered out from under the medberth with its four unnerving yellow optics directly at Prowl. 

A heavy weight sat in his spark under its gaze and Prowl scanned through preliminary battle reports on his HUD; Autobots were still covering the retreat of the unexpected youngling evacuation. 

Partitioning off part of his battle computer to sort through those report and bark out orders over comms, Prowl glared back at the Insecticon. While his battle computer heated his cortex, he double checked his alerts on his internal temperature gauge.

Thanks to that misunderstanding when the gladiator’s youngling had been placed in medical stasis, he could hardly leave the MARB to go to the command area now. 

What if the gladiator called on his Insecticon again and Prowl wasn’t here to intervene? 

The moment it had happened his battle computer had offered up the very real probability that youngling had never seen maintenance, had never entered into medical stasis, and the sight of his youngling's sudden dark optics after fighting viciously to defend him had set the gladiator off. 

And the way metal filaments had dusted out of the red youngling’s vents as he coughed, it was as if he had lived his life wedged in confined shafts. 

Perhaps a mine? 

Or had his creator hidden him away for protection until the Autobots descended upon the pits throwing them in to chaos?

Sighing internally to himself, Prowl made his way over to lean against the wall nearby the medberth. The gladiator _again_ , pressed his audial against the coolant wrap covering his youngling’s chest, despite the steady beep of the spark rate monitor. 

As Triage left to go tend to other more critical patients, the gladiator used his one functional arm to pull the wrapped youngling toward him and with the help of a few ordered clicks to his Insecticon, positioned him to be held him protectively on his lap. He pressed his youngling’s helm against his own chestplate, quickly nuzzled his audial horns before glaring about the MARB for threats. 

Emitting a soft, barely audible sequence of clicks and chirrups from his vocalizer, his Insecticon settled back down at his pedes. 

Through his posturing, it was obvious the gladiator cared deeply for his youngling.

Taking in the starved conditions of the damaged younglings being carted off for transport, not a one had a creator still standing by them, let alone cradling them defensively on their lap. Perhaps their creators had already perished in the arena and it wasn’t as spark wrenching as his battle computer suggested.

Primus, how _lucky_ was this youngling to still have a creator that stuck by him when Megatron had made it brutally clear that in his society only the strong gained victory, status, and resources.

Megatron was building an army to fight against the corrupt senate that no longer existed. The frightening reality remained that Megatron’s smaller brutal numbers were devastating on the Autobot’s forces. And his numbers were growing.

Prowl had only seen the golden gladiator before him fight for a moment, his focus more on the youngling getting carted away - _to safety_ \- by his Insecticon, but his battle computer replayed the ferocity and the number of opponents he had tore through in defense and evacuation of his youngling. Perhaps not finishing all his opponents off, but certainly clearing the path.

And as Prowl had left the main arena pit, the mech had been cornered by three opponents with Decepticon insignias.

No matter how distasteful, Prowl’s battle computer ran simulations of how better suited this gladiator would have been in Megatron’s new societal ranks had he not been obviously splitting his rations with his youngling, or his Insecticon. 

Though perhaps his command of his Insecticon gave him an advantage in the Pits. 

Thanks to Ratchet, Prowl was now very interested in figuring out how the mech had tamed it.

Walking over to fill two cubes of medical grade mineral enriched energon from a dispenser, he could practically feel the optics of both gladiator and Insecticon watching his every move. 

Returning to their side, Prowl extended one cube toward the hand the gladiator had wrapped around his youngling and the mech took it with a slight shaky nod.

The Insecticon pushed itself off the floor and Prowl froze as it sniffed the cube in its master’s hand, descending a tube-like extension from its mouth.

The gladiator seemed completely nonplussed his Insecticon had just stuck what appeared to be its glossa into his cube of energon. With a rapid fire audial grating clicks, to which his master returned, it maintained complete focus on Prowl as it settled back down at its master’s pedes.

“Your bug checks for poison?” Prowl hazarded a guess as he set the other cube on the ground and nudged it toward the so called bug with his pede.

“Yes.” Was the solitary response as the mech adjusted his single armed hold around his youngling. 

The Insecticon continued to stare up at Prowl, ignoring the cube and it hissed as he leaned against the medberth beside the gladiator. Interjecting and emitting a sharp click and slight growl at his Insecticon at his pedes, the gladiator avoided optic contact with Prowl and he raised the cube with a shaking hand to his mouth, downing it as quickly as possible. 

The mech’s levels must have been lower than Prowl thought - then again he had specifically asked for fuel.

“My name is Prowl.” He tried again as he had in the tunnels, “Is there a name you can give me for yourself?”

While he preferred to be addressed as “sir” by his subordinates, the gladiator before him was not an Autobot, and Prowl was hoping he could encourage the mech to believe him eventually that Prowl did not actually require a guard - or any payment at all. And that the mech might chose to join the Autobots.

The golden mech ignored him at first, and clicked and chirruped out a pattern to his Insecticon at his pedes. 

Whatever he said, the Insecticon didn’t respond or move, and Prowl kept looking to the mech waiting for a response.

No response was given and the mech only tightened his hold on his youngling, clenching his hand around his now empty cube and chittered out to his Insecticon again who simply ruffled its plating and didn't move or remove its focus from Prowl. 

“I’m aware you asked for repairs and fuel first, but as you can see, there are others who take priority. You will receive temporary repairs in order to board the transports but your final repairs will take place in Iacon where we have more abundant resources for these situations.”

His Insecticon growled as it stared at Prowl, and its master growled back at it with a rumble from both his vocalizer and his engine then snapped out a hiss toward it.

Silence descended between master and pet, and the mech stared down at his empty energon cube.

“I’d rather not walk around calling you _gladiator_ or _Goldy_ as you guard me.” Prowl stated firmly.

The mech simply continued to stare down at his empty cube and his jaw clenched tight.

“So be it.” Prowl ground out, pushing himself from where he was leaning against the berth. Optimus was going to be so furious over this arrangement.

Prowl got two steps away, back toward the wall he had been leaning against previously, when the mech behind him spoke with his gratingly harsh tone.

“Sunstreaker.” The cube in the the golden mech’s hand cracked as he ground out his name, and his Insecticon hissed towards his master. 

Prowl paused, and turned back toward him with a nod. 

“Sunstreaker. Thank you. And your youngling?” Prowl inquired, then as an after thought, he furrowed his brow ridge and added, “Your bug?”

Sunstreaker whipped his attention toward Prowl, optics wide. Red optics reset. He seemed…surprised?…Prowl had asked after the youngling’s designation. Or after his Insecticon’s? 

Looking back down toward his youngling, he set the cube aside and he pulled his wrapped youngling tight against himself. Clicking out a soft chirruping whirr, he moved his hand up to cradle his youngling’s helm against his chestplate. 

“No one will take him from you,” Prowl attempted to reassure, “But there is paperwork. A medical file. I need a name.”

Looking away from his cradled youngling to his Insecticon, and finally to Prowl, Sunstreaker’s frame sagged, “Side-swipe. And Bob.”

His pronunciation was awkward as if he were trying out the names for the first time and Prowl focused on hiding any visual clues of the disturbing direction his battle computer now went. 

Was it possible no one had ever inquired about the name of his youngling before?

Had he actually been forced to hide his youngling in a hole in an attempt to shield him?

“Sideswipe is a clever name, I’m certain he’ll be up and getting into mischief with the other younglings in no time.” Prowl stated at an attempt to be comforting. “He is very lucky to have you as a creator. And Bob is a unique designation. I can’t say I’ve heard one like it before.”

Unsurprisingly to Prowl, his attempt at comfort missed the mark because Sunstreaker looked mournfully defeated as he stroked his youngling’s audial horn.

Spark clenching, Prowl retreated back to lean against the wall, uncertain what to try further. 

This would be why few mechs spoke with him outside of duty. Jazz would know what to say. 

The Insecticon continued to stare at Prowl with unwavering focus.

The only explanation his battle computer could provide for the Insecticon’s intense focus on him was that its master had already instructed it to guard Prowl. 

Prowl stared back as he continued his multitasking of running through reports on his HUD and barking out orders over comms. Still a portion of his battle computer ran simulations of replicating the command Sunstreaker had over the Insecticon to reduce Autobot casualties by sending Insecticons to the frontlines.

He narrowed his focus back to consider Sunstreaker himself hunched defensively over his youngling and then the bug started to vibrate its plating in a subtle low frequency growl, drawing his attention back to it.

No. Not a growl - 

A hum.

A low frequency hum that reverberated straight through Prowl lines and set him on edge for no reason he could logically explain. 

Because for all Prowl knew about Insecticons, _Bob_ could be purring at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun reverse translating Bob's name into his hive resonance.
> 
> Bob: (short for Robert = Famed, bright, shining + a short quick movement up and down) = Famed for his bright and glimmering deeds against a rival hive in defense of hive, for his developed fighting movements as he alternated between down low to up high through quick and short transformation sequences to rend with teeth and claw in a repetitive advance.
> 
> Sideswipe is going to be so _furious_ Sunstreaker translated and solidified his name for an outsider with no concept of hive, and Sunstreaker knows it.
> 
> Though Sideswipe wrapped up like a literal pupa in a coolant blanket --> *melts*


	3. Catalyst

When he had found his tenacious pupae, they were lethargic and trembling with dim optics, and lacking luster to their plating. 

Wrapping them within the nest to radiate the heat from his own frame, they spent most of their first cycles with him curled tight together; forehelms touching with their optics cycled tight and their shared life-hive sparks joined as one. Purring and humming resonance with the vibrations of his wings and plating, he would stare down at them. 

Ultimately his own optics would drift offline, only to startle awake with the gnawing hunger pains in his hive spark echoing back into silence. A burning would enter his core, pouring through his being in a fury of molten metal.

Compulsively he would peer down to check the nest beneath him, and the burning at his core would subside at the sight of his two precious pupae. 

Such a small clutch, but he guarded them fiercely. 

Running his mandibles and foreclaws gently across their frames, he’d nuzzle them awake for feedings, speaking softly to them in chitters and chirps once their tanks were full.

Shared life spark pupae were always confused where one began and the other ended in their first cycles and he chittered at their feeding antics, amused. Extending his proboscis to one, the other would lap at the side of the other’s mouth, chirping and whining, not understanding why their tanks did not fill at the same time. 

Dual wide red optics began to stare up at him more often, still dim even as the heat waves from their frames began to shimmer more in his optical feed. Quiet chirrups, clicks and whirrs began to emit from both of them, requests for attention or more nectar. 

Always he indulged them.

Finally tiny appendages tentatively reached out to explore the under side of his plating, and he had hummed and purred in approval at their curiosity. 

But still their plating remained dull, their optics dim, and their ventillations sputtered. 

Mandibles turning them over and over, he examined under their plating from helm to pede. At the sight of the build up of internal corrosion and infestation of line mites stealing their nectar, he snarled out a hiss.

Their clicking warbles and shrieks for him to return to them when he collapsed the entrance to their cavern behind him, tore at his sparks. Such small pupae were not meant to be left alone but there were no others of hive to assist in their care, and he had little choice.

They needed him, not only to restore his own tanks with the impure nectar from which to feed them, but for the metals and sparse crystals he could forage to ingest and mix in his separate tanks in order to generate serum to fight the infestation. 

Deep in caverns he found a red crystal cluster, and as he resonated his plating toward it, a glow began to form from within. The empty silence of his hive spark urged him to hurry and the molten fury at the loss of hive threatened to consume him.

Losing the resonance, the crystals dimmed. As he struggled to regain the resonance against the tide of deep loss, he thought of his tenacious and ferocious pupae, still battling together for life. 

They needed him.

And they needed _hive_. 

Focusing, he found the resonance, and the crystal cluster began to glow and shake under alignment. Urgency prevented him from guiding it properly -

The cluster cracked, fracturing outward into shards.

Taking only what he needed, he chewed and swallowed the shards. Feeling them settle within his serum tank, he headed to the surface to forage for the metals he needed to bind it. Tearing and rending in a repetitive advance at any who stood in his way, he took from those with no concept of hive. 

From those who dared to cast precious shared life spark pupae aside. 

Digging a tunnel to return to them, his life spark ached and coiled at the silence in his hive spark, his processor tore away the echoes of arriving too late again. Bursting through the wall, he found them inconsolably still shrieking for him. Tanks rumbling and aching, they whimpered and chirruped, small appendages reaching toward him from the nest upon his arrival. 

The line mites had spread in his absence despite his haste, and he hissed to find the infestation visible now around their optics. Rushing toward them, he whined and chittered to see they had begun to tear at their plating to relieve the itch and the pressure. 

Regurgitating the serum he had mixed in his tank, he slathered it over them; twisting them about in his mandibles and foreclaws, and working it beneath plating and along lines. 

Gathering them to cling to the underside of his frame, he redirected his intake line to his accelerant reservoir tank. Contorting his tank to built up internal pressure, he sprayed red accelerant out his intake to cover the nest. Backing out of the cavern he struck his mandibles together above the spray until sparks shot out from between them.

Dual red optics watched from beneath him as their nest shot up in flame. 

And he retreated with his precious pupae deeper underground to escape the infestation ridden filth of the surface dwellers.

From the safety of a new nest, his pupae gulped down the serum laced nectar, and he meticulously slathered the serum under plating along their lines. Cycle after cycle he treated the infestation that dare threaten hive, and their dull plating began to become more vibrant as their optics began to glimmer with mischief.

Many more feeding cycles passed before his pupae were strong enough to venture out of their new nest with him to forage and hunt for hive resources. 

The first place he guided them was to the cavern where the shards of the red crystal cluster remained.

There he transformed for them, and their optics shot open wide while their ventilation went silent. Life and hive sparks hammering against his casings he hunched in on his frame at the sight of their uncharacteristic frozen forms. Sharing a silent slow glance with each other, devious glimmering optics looked back toward him. Trilling and whistling higher pitches in unison, they launched their coordinated attack. Spinning and wiggling, they playfully gnawed at his pedes as he allowed them to chase him. 

While his squirming, energetic, chittering and chirping pupae fearlessly scaled and explored his massive bipedal frame, he instructed them in the resonance to repair the crystalline lattice he had fractured -

And in how to complete the exchange for what hive took.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

“What the frag did you smear all over your severed line?”

Ratchet pulled his hand away from Sunstreaker’s upper left arm plating with a scowl as goopy translucent strings of whatever-the-frag Prowl had seen the Insecticon excrete from its mouth onto its master’s leaking energon line stretched out between them.

Sunstreaker looked away from his cradled youngling wrapped tight in the coolant wrap to where Ratchet was pulling and shaking out his own hand in an attempt to dislodge the substance. 

“Well?” Ratchet repeated as Sunstreaker simply furrowed his brow ridge, scowling at Ratchet now attempting to clear the substance off his hand.

“Sealant.” He finally ground out in his harsh guttural tone.

With the ingestion of energon Prowl had handed him, and his severed line blocked with ‘sealant,’ Sunstreaker’s wounds were no longer critical. Still, as soon as the transports containing the medical stasis locked younglings were loaded and lifted off the ground, Ratchet stopped by to perform temporary repairs on Sunstreaker's sparking leg. 

The Autobot CMO knew better than to suggest Sunstreaker separate from his youngling based on the deadly glare he had received when Ratchet had motioned for Prowl to hold Sideswipe in order to make their way to the next transport. Sunstreaker had instead clicked and whistled toward his Insecticon who rose to gently carry the wrapped stasis locked youngling in its massive sharp jaws. Prowl attempted not to stare like Ratchet had at the sight of the wrapped youngling swinging from between the jaws of an Insecticon. Sunstreaker made his own way, pushing the spark rate monitor attached to his youngling, trailing behind Prowl toward the boarding ramp. 

Prowl had already reached the top of the boarding ramp when the absence of the tapping of Insecticon pedes registered above his multitasking in his processor, and he turned to see Sunstreaker taking a hesitant step onto the base of the loading ramp. 

Then another. 

Failing to suppress a smirk at this intimidating mech’s apparent reluctance toward flying, Prowl watched as Sunstreaker made his way cautiously up the ramp; pede steps slow and measured. Once he stood next to Prowl, Sunstreaker turned, clicking and chirping to his Insecticon, coaxing it forward up the ramp. 

As the transport lifted off the ground, bug and master had emitted some brief hissing. Sunstreaker had sat down with his youngling clenched tight, while his Insecticon stumbled, spreading out its legs and fanning out buzzing wings into the faces of others in order to find its footing under the force of the shuddering take off. 

Autobots injured enough to be on the first transports out watched nervously at its scrambling attempts to steady itself, and multiple times Prowl had to instruct them over comms to stand down. It wasn’t as if the troop carriers were designed with Insecticon restraints, but Prowl was impressed by how quickly Sunstreaker had steadied the beast in this obviously new situation for it by commanding it to lay down. 

The temporary quick repair on Sunstreaker’s leg before boarding had stopped the sparking, but once they were airborne Ratchet had pushed past Prowl, muttering about getting the mech’s arm partially mobile. 

Halfway through reconnecting and bypassing the severed connections on Sunstreaker’s upper left shoulder rotator, Ratchet’s hand had grasped around the clear excretion leading to the medic's current appalled confusion.

“I know sealants. _This_ ,” Ratchet stuck his fingers together then pulled them apart and glared at the strings of goo before scowling toward the gladiator, “This. Is _not_ sealant.”

“His Insecticon excreted it from its mouth.” Prowl added with a slight smirk from where he stood nearby holding an overhead support bar. 

Ratchet rounded on him.

“What did I tell you about the wrong time to develop a sense of -“ Ratchet stopped as he considered the substance again then glanced toward the Insecticon, only to gape toward the Sunstreaker in turn. “You’re not joking.”

Grabbing the golden mech’s upper arm again, Sunstreaker attempted to turn his head to watch over his heavily armored shoulder plating as Ratchet examined the line Prowl knew had been dripping energon only four joors ago. 

“…It repairs?” Ratchet stated in a brief moment of awe, then narrowed his optics as he examined the main energon line between his fingers. “When did this line get sliced?”

“Before..." Sunstreaker’s voice wavered as he looked up to meet Prowl’s optics, "I became a guard.”

“Yes, yes but precisely when?” Ratchet asked absently as he took a scalpel out of his subspace and scrapped some of the excretion into a petri-dish. 

Sunstreaker continued looking to Prowl, expression pinched as he tightened his grip on his youngling, “Before… _Prowl_.”

Diverting some of his battle computer away from continuing to issues orders and organize the evacuation over comms, Prowl intervened before Ratchet lost his patience with the heavily armored mech. 

“Approximately four joors ago.”

Shaking his head, Ratchet held the petri dish up at optic level, “Astounding, it’s as if it has accelerated his self repair, the line and the circuits around it look almost -“

The sudden snarled hiss from Sunstreaker startled all the mechs around them and Prowl diverted his battle computer to process this situation as _Bob_ rose in time with his master. 

“Drop it.” Engine roaring, Sunstreaker stood on his newly repaired leg. Bringing himself up to his full height, he loomed over both Ratchet and Prowl, his wrapped youngling attached to the spark rate monitor pulled in tight to his side.

Stealing himself, Ratchet stared straight up at the larger mech, “Don’t you dare," He snapped, "Not on a transport, not after we have -”

“Sunstreaker stand down.” Prowl commanded, adjusting his posture to assume his station within the Autobot high command. Internally his battle computer raced, uncertain what set the mech off.

“Do not take that which is not given or exchanged.” Speaking in a combination of guttural basic and harsh clicks, Prowl watched as Sunstreaker’s left arm convulsed slowly forward, spitting sparks and straining his shoulder rotator, to knock the petri-dish out of Ratchet’s hand. As it clattered to the floor of the troop carrier, it bounced once before his Insecticon moved forward to -

Consume the petri-dish? 

Sunstreaker's stare straight into the medic’s optics never broke focus during the movement, and Prowl hoped Ratchet had deactivated Sunstreaker’s pain receptors.

Because Sunstreaker did not so much as flinch under the strain of his action.

::The excretion, Ratchet. He doesn’t want you to -::

::I’m not an idiot.::

“This excretion from your Insecticon acts as a catalyst for your self repair some how,” Ratchet began as he considered the Insecticon looming beside Sunstreaker, “if our science teams can study -”

“This was _not_ exchanged.” Sunstreaker growled as he snapped his optics toward Prowl. “Repairs. Fuel. My youngling, me, -“

“And your bug.” Prowl finished, suppressing a sigh as he stepped forward. “For you as my guard.”

Primus. How thick helmed was this mech? How many repeated -

“Hands _OFF_ ,” Red optics narrowed and Sunstreaker clamped his plating tight as he took a step forward, his Insecticon mirroring his movement perfectly.

Tanks rolling, Prowl opened his mouth to snap out that he had no intention of fragging any of them, especially not his youngling or his bug, then his battle computer snapped it shut. 

The _petri-dish_ set him off. 

Is that what Sunstreaker had meant by -

“Sunstreaker, sit down and receive your repairs.” He ordered, “No one is going to study your bug.”

Glaring at Prowl as if measuring the truth of his words, Sunstreaker emitted alternating rapid fire clicks and whistles toward his Insecticon. With one final considering glare, tension left Sunstreaker's frame and both of master and pet settled back to their original position.

The surrounding Autobots in the troop carrier had gone deathly silent, and Sunstreaker simply repositioned himself for Ratchet to continue to repair his shoulder after quietly whining and whirring toward his stasis locked youngling as he adjusted his grip.

::Prowl, the advances that could be -:: Ratchet objected. 

::Drop it. Sunstreaker and his Insecticon are under my command:: Prowl interrupted.

::Don’t you mean Sunstreaker is your own personal mercenary _outside_ of the chain of command?:: 

That stung, and Prowl clenched his jaw tighter while continuing to coordinate the retreat back toward Iacon over comms. Prowl knew perfectly well what his deal with Sunstreaker looked like, and he already had five unread messages from Optimus inquiring to his status. 

Fragging Smokescreen and his big mouth. 

::I already told you that’s not how this happened.::

Prowl could only hope Optimus wouldn't see it that way; at least Jazz had been present. And Bumblebee. Optimus had a soft spot for the young Autobot scout. 

Watching through what would be a dizzying array of multitasking for other Cybertronians on his HUD, he observed Ratchet resume welding together sliced circuitry. The Autobot CMO ranted to a stoic faced Sunstreaker about moving his arm before he had completed repairs.

Passively checking that the internal heat warnings for his battle computer remained at an operational level, Prowl monitored Sunstreaker’s posture as the tense mech watched Ratchet’s movements closely. Presumably, to ensure Ratchet did not take another sample of Bob’s so called ‘sealant’ that Ratchet claimed worked as a catalyst for self repair.

After Ratchet reattached Sunstreaker’s shoulder plating, Sunstreaker rotated his shoulder and clicked, chirped and chittered toward Bob, who responded to his master’s prompt by alternating between chitters, clicks and whirrs as his massive head snuffled onto his lap. 

Now with the use of both arms Sunstreaker adjusted his hold on his youngling, offlined his optics and pressed an audial fin against Sideswipe’s covered chestplate again. Chirping once more toward Bob he offered his pet a tight smile. Extending his left servo, Sunstreaker scratched behind one of Bob’s antenna only to receive a huff out of vents in return. Sunstreaker tilted his head toward his bug as he chittered in the way Sideswipe had in the tunnels. 

Prowl still _swore_ that sounded vaguely amused, and he gawked for a moment as Sunstreaker's audial fins _twitched_ , only then noticing that the metal attaching them to his helm appeared less armored and more flexible.

When Prowl ventilated a sigh at his processor ache, convinced he was starting to see glitches, Sunstreaker’s optics snapped up toward him. Staring at Prowl, he tucked his youngling protectively in both arms then hunched around Sideswipe and dropped optic contact. Glancing around the troop carrier, Sunstreaker silently curled his lip into a snarl toward the Autobots that were watching him. 

The peripheral awareness of Prowl's battle computer taking in his surroundings and filtering his observations to store them in longterm memory files, nudged his attention toward Ratchet’s left finger tips as the medic walked past. 

Slightly wet at the ends. 

::Don’t let him see you take a sample from what remains of that excretion on your hands.:: 

Ratchet was far too professional to startle when Prowl rudely commed him through a direct channel without a prompt request, and whether or not taking a sample had been the CMO’s plan before Prowl brought it to his attention was irrelevant. 

Because Ratchet had been right. 

The medical advantage and advances of a self repair catalyst, that could come from harvesting or synthetically replicating the excretion from Sunstreaker’s Insecticon, could save future Autobot lives. 

A soft low hum, directed his attention back toward Sunstreaker protectively holding his youngling, and Prowl was unsurprised to see Bob’s four yellow optics staring unwaveringly back in his direction.

Massive armored head resting on Sunstreaker’s lap, Prowl _swore_ the soft low hum dropped deeper once his optics met Bob’s own, and that same uneasy feeling vibrated straight through Prowl's plating deep into his lines again.

Staring back at the unnerving bug, Prowl considered what his battle computer had registered when the petri-dish had set Sunstreaker off.

_Someone had already studied Sunstreaker’s pet Insecticon._

Which meant there was a high probability the Decepticons had gained a previously unknown medical technological advantage.

Or at the very least, they had a head start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bob is not a linear story teller, he circles a topic, reflecting through relevant parts of the past as events occur in the present. Slowly you will gain more and more insight into his hive culture and worldview he instilled in Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. And I imagine you are starting to gleam that Bob REALLY doesn't like 'those with no concept of hive,' after living through feeling the slow starvation of his hive. 
> 
> Prowl is busy multitasking with his battle computer. During all of this he is still issuing orders, reading reports and coordinating the retreat. Completely analyzing what is going on in front of him between Sunstreaker and his 'pet Insecticon' is not a priority to him at this moment. What he does care about is that youngling not coming out of stasis to find his obviously loving creator, who Prowl assumes is on a hair trigger from battling for resources, has been killed. And the potential strategic advantages that may come from "training" Insecticons 
> 
> Poor Sunstreaker is the bridge between attempting to translate cultural concepts and words that sometimes have no direct translation while not fully understanding Cybertronian culture himself. He can find himself at a loss at what a new word or phrase means, and default in error to cultural concepts he's familiar with towards Prowl. 
> 
> For example: Bob's serum is much more - physically and culturally - than just 'sealant,' but Sunstreaker chose the word that best described its use at that moment.
> 
> Eventually Sideswipe will get unPupa wrapped and brought back online XD.


	4. Chitters and Whirrs

The first time he onlined from his slumber to find the nest empty beneath him, he is not ashamed to admit his panicked warbles and piercing shrieks echoed through the chamber. Skittering about the cavern for a threat, he searched in vain for a breech to hive. Liquid hot molten fury pumped through his lines and flared from his sparks as he hunted for something, _someone_ , he could tear and destroy that had taken his precious pupae.

The aching empty silence of his hive spark resonated through his frame breaking his thoughts to fragments, half worried his red and golden treasures had been nothing more than crystal illusions. 

Dual heads and sleepy red optics poked out of a tiny hole his pupae had dug through the nest material, emitting tired chirrups in response to his frantic panic.

Sparks soaring, he clicked and chittered with his mandibles, his own cavernous fears and pain slipping away as he closed the distance between them.

Chirping and chittering as he fussed over them in relief, he received tired questioning whirrs and chirrups in response. His pupae switched their clicking and chirps between themselves mid statement, still confused in partial recharge which was which. 

Using his mandibles, he straightened out the soft sensory appendage that had flopped over on the side of the gold one’s head and brushed the metal debris skewered to the red one’s own as he soothed them. Righting little antenna buds, he massaged the base with a weak acidic solution he secreted so they did not solidify crooked. His pupae tangled themselves among the other, humming in contentment and vying for more attention until they returned to sleep.

As he straightened the gold one’s larger sensory appendage off the side of his helm again, he resolved to hunt for a clearer batch of green crystals. The impurities in the ones he had used to churn the diluted acid in his reservoir tank had made the solution too strong, causing too much softening of the living metal material on his pupae’s helms.

Secreting the clear serum from his secondary tank along with the acid from his reservoir tank, he worked to help strengthen those areas on their helm without losing the malleability his pupae needed to move them to better feel their surrounding and communicate with him. 

Not quite fully formed antenna, no matter how much he attempted to guide the red one’s buds to lengthen, but it would have to do. 

Finally getting their sensory appendages in line, the gold one rolled onto his side, chestplate splitting open to merge his dual life-hive spark with his clutch-mate in his sleep.

Blowing out a huff from his vents in frustrated exasperation, a puff of metallic filaments billowed through the air around them. The gold one always insisted on sleeping on his side, destroying his efforts.

If he was not careful his sensory appendage would harden lopsided. 

As it was, that left one always drooped.

Reaching out with his smaller yellow claws, he gently lifted them as one, careful to keep them locked together so as not to disorient them or cause them sudden pain to be torn apart. Reorienting them so the gold one was on top, he set to working and straightening that appendage with his mandibles again while a purr of resonance harmony emitted from his red pupa’s plating under the attention to his other half.

He couldn’t help his own resonance joining the pitch as he vibrated his own plating, lifting his armor over his delicate wings a fraction to add further resonance vibrations to the air that soothed and chased away the emptiness left in his hive spark. 

Chirruping softly to himself, he pet along his red pupa’s budding antennas as both pupae ventilated a sigh of contentment, unable to distinguish themselves from the other during their joining.

When their cries and pangs of hunger had first compelled him to root them out in the above ground caves with no ceilings, they had only been able to emitting clicks, chirps, and screeches.

But his clever pupae learned quickly as he spoke to them softly in the clicks of his mandibles, whirrs with the twisting of his proboscis, vibrations of his plating, and humming of his wings encased in thick spiked armor.

As they grew they became difficult to keep track of, his devious red pupa delighted in his mastery of tunnels and often popped out and escaped the nest from unexpected angles, dragging his golden clutch-mate in his chittering wake.

When they wandered too far, they began to learn the hissing resonance of objection and correction, along with the growls of anger and piercing warbling shriek when they whined and whistled for him, cornered by a surface dweller. 

Expressing their own resonance from before he had courted them to hive, they spoke of their terror before him when a surface dweller had grabbed one of them from the crack they had wedged themselves in, the other desperately screeching and pulling the other back to safety further up the narrow passage. They spoke of empty optics of others that wished to consume them. 

They could not remember which of them had been grabbed. They had been acting as one and that caused them distress. 

Breaking their worries, he explained to them it didn’t matter which it happened to. 

They were hive. 

They had always been hive.

The suffering of one affected them all like ripples through sweet nectar, or resonance alignment of a crystal.

They had trilled, purred, and hummed with every lesson he taught, competing fiercely against each other while simultaneously adding to each other's foundations and covering the other’s weaknesses.

They had no mandibles to click, and no wings to stir the air, yet his clever pupae found a way.

After all.

They would always be hive.

Locking his optics on the surface dweller standing in a challenge display of confidence behind his golden pupa, he rumbled out a low level threat as his pupa’s sensory appendages twitched under the force of his displeasure of his request to use hive resources on the outsider. 

That particular surface dweller, he wished to rend limb from frame. 

With his flightless wings flared high and wide, delicate sensory appendages boldly bared, whatever he intended for his precious spinning crystal streak by demanding him as his guard in exchange for hive resources would not come to pass.

His mind was narrow. Small like the rest. 

Forced to exist alone, a singular life spark with no hope of hive - they became petty, cruel, and gluttonous believing they could force order upon the flow of chaos instead of following, adapting, and influencing events of the unknowable stream. 

The outsiders always stored their world in lines and boxes of light and dark without seeing the connecting gradients between. Their thoughts, segregated whole crystals into fragments then stood baffled when it refused to join after the damage they wrought to its structure. 

Certainly that particular white and black surface dweller had no concept of hive to complete the rites he spoke.

 _{{Empty words}}_ , his red pupa had chittered when the offer was made. Yet that mech had given his golden pupa fuel from his own hand after the exchange was accepted.

No matter how enamored his golden pupa could be with the lines of their world, as long as dual sparks spun at his core, that outsider could never court his precious spinning crystal streak away from hive.

 _’Bob’_ would rend out that outsider's single lonely spark and crush it beneath his own pedes if he tried. 

And his devious red pupa would join him in defense of his clutch-mate, yanking him back out of line, into the flow where chaos reigned over order.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

“I need someone I can fix.”

Prowl snapped his optics up from his datapad toward where Ratchet was leaving the isolation center. Autobot CMO muttering to himself as he dragged a hand down his face. 

After the second failure to successfully bring one of the younglings rescued from Kaon out of medical stasis, Prowl had turned away from the observation window. Now, he stood against a wall next to Sunstreaker, Bob settled at their pedes and out of the way of the clamor. 

The medical center in Iacon was a symphony of audible chaos. Medical tools whirred, and hissed as dented and burned plating was unfused and lines were sealed. Injured Autobots returning from their offensive, waited against walls in various degrees of disrepair, but Ratchet target locked onto Sunstreaker.

More accurately, on Sunstreaker’s coolant wrapped youngling cradled against his chestplate.

“Bring him here.” Ratchet motioned with his head then turned toward an operating room.

Sunstreaker’s arms tightened around his youngling, clicking out a whistle to Bob as he took two steps forward. The Insecticon rose, but Sunstreaker stopped his advance to look back at Prowl.

“Follow Ratchet, he’ll fix Sideswipe.” Prowl stated simply.

Looking back toward his datapad, his fuel tank twisted down a gnawing hole. The casualty reports kept coming as the last troops carriers landed. The most critical cases in the Cold Zone had been evacuated first, Prime’s unit covering the flank of their force's retreat out of the city. CR chambers already all full. Autobot medics in full triage mode, having had to make the choice of which soldier would be more likely to survive. 

Scanning through the casualty list, Prowl reorganized units to fill strategic holes. Sending messages and promotions through the ranks as he typed on his datapad and coordinated over comms. Funerals and formalities could wait, Megatron’s forces were poised to rally beyond Kaon with the aid of the seekers of Vos toward Tarn. Vos’ deep enmity against Tarn along with Megatronus’ heritage in those mines made for an unexpected ally Prowl should have predicted. The loss of the weapons factories and mines of Tarn would -

A shadow loomed over his datapad, blotting out the bright lights of the Medical Center.

Startled, Prowl looked up into the red optics of Sunstreaker peering down at him, the majority of the mech’s face filling Prowl’s visual feed at his sudden silent close proximity. 

“Follow.” Sunstreaker ground out as he jerked his head toward the operating room. 

Delicate processes interrupted, Prowl couldn’t manage to suppress his huff laced in irritation, “I’m in the Medical Center in the Autobot main base. I’m hardly in need of -“

“If he needs you to hold his hand, I don’t care,” Ratchet called across the Medbay toward them, “Just get his youngling over here, and keep that Insecticon in line.”

Fraggit all.

Pushing himself off the wall and grinding his denta, Prowl walked past the lines of Autobots awaiting repairs. Sunstreaker’s heavy pedes and Bob’s quiet clicks of his own following behind causing his sensor panels to twitch. He couldn’t wait until this thick helmed mech’s youngling was repaired so he could finally tell him he didn’t need or want a guard.

In a brief flash of vindictiveness toward the situation, Prowl calculated the statistics he could get the mech to enlist in the Autobots before Prowl met up with the Prime, rendering this entire uncomfortable situation moot point. Results indicating success were bleak, as Prowl could practically feel the massive Insecticon venting on his sensor panels from behind. Careful to keep his movements measured and predictable, he fought the gyros in the joints attaching his sensor panels to his frame. Concentrating on his multitasking on his HUD, he held them rigid against his natural reaction to want to pin them against this back to protect the sensitive sensors with their armored exterior, and continued on through the wounded with his odd procession as if he were completely in control of this unprecedented situation. 

For the time being, Prowl’s presence and their agreement seemed to help keep Sunstreaker’s short tempered trigger off its fine edge, and consequently, his Insecticon under control.

And the last thing Prowl wanted was for the mech to ghost away with his Insecticon before Prowl could unlock how he trained it and perhaps send others out to capture Insecticons to train an entire battalion of them.

Entering the operating room, a solid mass clipped his shoulder, abruptly shoving him into a corner out of the way. Sunstreaker’s path now clear, he stalked past him without a glance to Prowl steadying himself on his pedes, following Ratchet’s instructions to place his wrapped youngling on the medberth. A glare to the mech’s backplate morphed into fascinated interest as Prowl watched over the edges of his datapad at the gentle care the brutish mech took to place his youngling on the operating berth. Sunstreaker’s tender movements juxtaposed against the short memory files of Sunstreaker’s brutality in the Pits. The obvious devotion Sunstreaker had toward his youngling, a bright spot of the entire botched campaign. 

And Prowl found himself unable to look away. 

The strong black hand Prowl had observed snapping spinal columns hovered lightly on metallic cooling wraps over Sideswipe’s chestplate, as his other hand _fussed_ , gently arranging his youngling’s helm to a more comfortable position. 

Ratchet himself paused as he turned around, his optics softening a fraction toward the gladiator, before he turned back toward his tray of tools he pulled forward and recorded readings from the spark rate monitor. 

“Uh…Ratchet?” The tentative voice of First Aid broke the serenity of the scene, yanking Prowl’s cortex out of processes and snapping his helm to the entrance as a deep rumbling vibration transmitted through the floor panels beneath Prowl’s pedes. 

Bob had settled silently in the doorway, his four yellow optics locked entirely on First Aid attempting to enter. The spikes on his backplate rose as he puffed out armored wings to display them.

A quick hiss-click from Sunstreaker abruptly snapped them back down, the ominous vibrations shooting through Prowl’s lines ending just as quickly. With a huff, the Insecticon shuffled to the side of the entry way to allow First Aid to pass with his tray of filters, new tubing and line cleansers.

“Your Insecticon can not impede the operations of this Medbay, move it out of the way and control it or its gone!” All softness was gone from Ratchet’s optics as he snapped out his order to Sunstreaker.

And once again, instead of responding to Ratchet, Sunstreaker looked to Prowl as he answered, “He guards the taper-point.”

Processes spiraling across Prowl’s HUD momentarily ground to a halt before restarting. Bob had settled there silently with no command, so a regular expected behavior that had been trained into him then; to guard an entry way when Sunstreaker was in a room with no other exit. 

It was…strategic. 

“There is nothing in my Medbay you need protection from -“

“You are not liked by the others.” Sunstreaker ground out, vocalizer skipping static on certain words causing Ratchet to narrow his optics at the mech’s neck. The battle mech withdrew his hand from his youngling and stalked his way toward Prowl, Ratchet’s sputters having no effect as Sunstreaker continued to ignore the Chief Medical Officer completely, “Your need for me as your guard is clear as pure crystal.”

His words caused Prowl’s fuel tank to sink to the floor as red optics drifted toward Prowl’s rigid sensor panels.

“I am not unable to defend -“

A black hand shot out, fingers digging into a seam in Prowl’s upper arm, yanking out to hold severed wires, before Prowl’s over-worked and sputtering cortex could sync and react with his battle computer. 

“You are hurt.”

Wincing as the wires Sideswipe had torn were pulled further forward between Sunstreaker’s fingers, Prowl glared at Sunstreaker, “It’s hardly an injury, that needs tending.”

Burning red optics locked and narrowed at Prowl’s face, “Medical repairs.”

“There are others in more dire need.”

_::I am the Autobot second in command, more suitable for strategy behind the lines::_

Prowl’s optics widened to hear his own voice transmitted back to him from a recording device that appeared in Sunstreaker’s hand, then watched as the gladiator returned the dataslug to a port on his wrist as he spoke.

“Second in command. Medical repairs. You are Starscream.”

The indignant sputter that left Prowl’s mouth was drown out by Ratchet’s barked laughter, but Sunstreaker’s optics never left his focus on Prowl’s face. The larger mech stood uncomfortably close as if expecting a response and Prowl’s battle computer raced to piece everything together while simultaneously performing his duties remotely. 

A sharp crackle, snap of electric pain shot across his cortex as heat warnings blared against his HUD. Wincing, he syphoned off a few responsibilities to Jazz only to receive a questioning prompt in return about his welfare. 

Some processes cleared, the heat warnings dropped and through the static of his HUD, First Aid took a few steps closer as Prowl’s cycling optics returned to normal.

The static cleared, some pieces of Sunstreaker’s point clicked into place. 

“My station within the Autobot ranks gives me no special treatment in this situation,” Prowl explained, “I wait for minor repairs like any other Autobot as others more critical are given priority. By the time the medical staff is cleared to tend to these wires, my self repair will likely have taken care of most of the damage.”

Sunstreaker stared at him a few klicks more furrowing his brow and scowling, until he turned and clicked rapid fire at his Insecticon ending in a soft whir. Bob rose to his pedes to fill the door way and clicked his mandibles together rapidly while hissing air out his vents with a growl.

The mech returned one in kind. 

Bob’s heavy back armor rose again, antenna ramrod straight, wings lifting and flaring as Sunstreaker brought himself to his full height and puffed out his armor and -

Prowl’s sensor panels rose with his shock as he gaped internally at the back of the mech’s helm. 

Sunstreaker’s audial fins left their stationary position… _lifted and flared_ on the sides of his helm. He had thought he saw them wiggle on the transport but had passed it off as his overworked cortex beginning to glitch. It was -

How had he modified his helm to do that? There were no seams.

Their clicking, hissing, and growling lobbed back and forth for over a breem as Sunstreaker fearlessly postured in mimicry of the Insecticon to calm whatever had set it off. Both of their vocalizations increased in pace until Prowl could no longer keep track which one was generating what noise.

Narrowing his optics as the odd display continued, Prowl responded to Jazz’s question that he had not glitched, he had simply been reaching his operating limit. Then he sent a few more processes Jazz’s way as he observed the stand off between master and pet more closely.

If he didn’t know any better he’d say the two of them were _arguing_ , before Sunstreaker huffed, snapped, and snarled in a harsher clicks that grated audials. Stomping his foot sent vibrations through floor plating and the Insecticon wilted, antenna slicked back, his master obviously asserting a command.

But when Bob’s four yellow optics snapped toward Prowl in his place behind Sunstreaker, they fixated like a wild, hungry predator and his antenna shot straight up again.

Every ounce of his battle computer flashed danger warnings, but Prowl stood his ground as Bob approached at Sunstreaker’s command. The gladiator’s hand shot out, grabbing Prowl by his upper arm and jerking him the final distance. A sharp pain lanced through sensitive systems as Sunstreaker dug his fingers into plating seams, separating panels to expose his injured wires.

Processor catching up, Prowl’s objection to Sunstreaker digging around in his transformation seams lodged in his vocalizer as the yellow mouth plate on his Insecticon’s face retracted. Sharp powerful jaws with rows of teeth were exposed and -

With a low rumbling, Bob’s body undulated.

Once.

Twice.

Sunstreaker held out his hand toward Bob, but it was the noise that cause Prowl to attempt to pull away. That noise he had heard only once before in the tunnels exiting Kaon.

“No. That’s not necessary, Sunstrea -“

Goopy sealant projected out of Bob’s mouth, gobbing on Sunstreaker’s hand and in a single fluid movement, Sunstreaker was working it between separated plating of Prowl's arm. Standing stunned, Prowl watched as black fingers lightened their harsh grip to gently drift along the injured wires as Prowl’s tank churned. 

“It is given this once,” Sunstreaker stared hard into Prowl’s startled optics, “to you alone.”

Arm released, Prowl pulled it against his side. 

Spinal strut shuddering as he felt the so-called sealant drip and seep further into the mechanisms of his arm, Prowl wrinkled his nasal ridge as Sunstreaker held out his hand to his pet for it to clean the remnants off his hand. Somehow, despite coming out of an Insecticon, it was cold. Bob uttered another growl toward his master and the two of them started clicking and hissing at each other again as Sunstreaker stood in Bob’s way and pointed, preventing him from laying back down in the entry way again.

With a final huff and flare of his armored back plating, Bob moved to the corner opposite Prowl and Sunstreaker stationed himself against the door jam leading into the operating room.

It only took a glance at their positions for Prowl’s battle computer to calculate both of their lines of sight…assuming the Insecticon had similar visual sensors to a mech…

And there was his cortex ache starting again.

Prowl knew next to nothing about Insecticons other than reports from outposts and couriers. Vicious creatures that rose from the depths of Cybertron over the vorns preceding the uprising, tore through transports in small packs that dissipated into mist as quickly as they swarmed. 

He set a notification to contact Hound, Beachcomber, and any of the science devision for answers he could compare against information he could glean from Sunstreaker toward their training. 

Once sent, he returned to his post battle processes and orders, peripherally noticing that any time Sunstreaker turned his head to the Medbay, Bob watched Ratchet’s work over Sideswipe.

And vice versa. 

Something was nagging at his battle computer. At times it seemed Sunstreaker barely had control of the creature, fearlessly butting heads with it as the Insecticon stubbornly resisted commands. Others times, like now, it was as if the Insecticon was so in tune with his master’s body language, they worked in a seamless set.

And he had never once grabbed it to physically force it into a position or correct it.

It was simply bizarre. 

The joors clicked away with Ratchet focusing on Sideswipe’s cooling network and line overhaul. Insecticon and master keeping steady watch and Prowl focused on his duties while growing increasingly irritated with performing all his tasks remotely. 

Finally, Ratchet began the process of reattaching the youngling’s plating, and hushed whispers between Ratchet and First Aid caused Prowl to look up from his datapad. The CMO narrowed his optics at the spark rate monitor, flicked it, then locked his focus on Bob for a few klicks, only to scowl toward Sunstreaker before he checked the spark rate monitor again.

“Sunstreaker, how old is Sideswipe? There is a discrepancy with his spark size and my readings.” Prowl wouldn’t have said Sunstreaker had been relaxed against doorway, but his entire frame stiffened at Ratchet’s question.

The change in his posture alarmed Bob as both master and pet dropped their alternating watch of the entryway, snapping their optics toward Ratchet. 

After a klick, again Sunstreaker ignored the CMO and turned to Prowl with his response, “He is my youngling.”

The wrench, Prowl had seen coming just from the flare of irritation in Ratchet’s optics. Halting his processes in his cortex to intervene, Prowl reached out to yank Sunstreaker out of the projected line of flight.

Bob moved faster.

An explosive sound of transformation accompanied a blur of purple, yellow, and silver. 

One klick Prowl had been watching the wrench Ratchet had whipped toward Sunstreaker spiraling through the air.

The next, Bob was sliding to a halt beside Prowl as if he had never transformed out if his beastmode, metal crunching and sparking in his powerful jaws while emitting that low level, line quivering hum-like-purr again.

Ratchet was sputtering, but Sunstreaker stared with wide optics at Prowl’s outstretched hand, frozen and reaching toward him, looked to Bob staring at them and rending the metal, and took a step back and deadpanned, “My bug consumes certain metals.”

“He thought that was a treat?” First Aid squeaked, then lost some tension to his frame as he looked at Bob and cooed, “Awwww. That’s actually really cute. Look at his yellow feelers bobbing around.”

Prowl however, failed to see the same appeal as his battle computer suggested other strategically relevant implications - conflicting dread warring with practicality of application. “Does your bug consume the metal of mechs as well?”

“He could.” Sunstreaker responded non-pulsed, plating relaxing a fraction from his frame then smirked toward his bug. “But he has never liked the taste.”

Reaching out and scratching at the base of an antenna, Sunstreaker clicked and chittered what Prowl could only assume was praise to his Insecticon, completely unconcerned as Bob made short work of Ratchet’s favorite wrench. Yellow optics stared at hard Prowl around the side of Sunstreaker before softening as he looked to his master and whirred.

Battle computer always ticking, Prowl filed the information away along with the more ominous unasked question of what Sunstreaker were to do if Bob did develop a taste for living metal. Few bodies or survivors were ever found in the pre-uprising reports Prowl had read of fabled Insecticon attacks. Perhaps Sunstreaker raised it up, causing it to imprint on him as its queen, never allowing it to develop a taste for living mechs. Found it as a sparkling and -

Egg. 

The single word was thrust to the front of Prowl’s cortex from his battle computer. He had heard a youngling tale once that Insecticons laid eggs in the still living frames of mechs, consuming them from the inside out until -

Hastily deleting that line of code Prowl resisted the urge to drop and twitch his sensor panels up and down in his agitation. 

Youngling tales were often horrifyingly detailed when it came to consequences of wandering far from a creator beyond city limits or down dark alleys. That was all. Certainly Prowl hadn’t just invited in a creature to the Autobot base that would lay eggs in the still living frames of -

“I’m adding your vocalizer to my repair list.” Clicking stopped. Sunstreaker pulling himself up to his full height from where he had been clicking, chirping, and chittering away at his bug for catching the wrench, and sent a deadly glare toward Ratchet, “Don’t look at me like that. You think I don’t hear the static and your words skipping from the strain you are placing on it?” 

The gladiator’s hands clenched into tight fists.

“Nothing’s wrong with how I speak.” Sunstreaker ground out, clenched hands crossed with his arms over his chestplate, his Insecticon hissing out a growl of his own toward Ratchet. 

Prowl’s battle computer picked up on a soft spot - a weakness - it filed away for later in his cortex whether he wanted it to or not. Sunstreaker was _bothered_ by mechs pointing out how grating, slow, and static laced his words he emitted could be. 

So bothered by it, his Insecticon also seemed to pick up on it from his frame language, as a threat. 

::Ratchet stop poking at him, or I’ll never get any work -::

::Optimus to Prowl.::

Frag. 

Scrambling and sorting over eight hundred options in under a klick, Prowl searched for a solution to put this impeding meeting off further. His optics locked on Ratchet attempting to get Sunstreaker to answer his questions about Sideswipe’s age, but the mech simply revved his engine in a growl toward the medic and stationed himself back beside Prowl.

As if that would stop Ratchet, he was like - 

…Ratchet. Perfect.

::I am currently in the Medical Center with Ratchet awaiting minor repairs.:: Prowl pointedly didn’t look at the translucent goo coating his torn cables. The area had gone numb and despite the heat from his frame, it was still cold with a slight tingle. But the Prime always avoided Ratchet and his own repairs as long as possible. It was the best shield Prowl could have to stall for -

::With your personal guard from Kaon who commands an Insecticon?::

Prowl couldn't keep his sensor panels from twitching downward like an errant youngling. 

::Sir, I have a good explanation.::

::I look forward to hearing it in my office. I am in the command center.::

Not an order, but it may as well have been.

::Understood.::

Disconnecting the commline, Prowl turned to see Sunstreaker staring intently at him. 

“I have work to attend to elsewhere.” Assuming his command posture, Prowl issued his order to Sunstreaker while telling himself it was no different than commanding troops to stop the contortion of his fuel tank. “Remain here with your youngling, keep your bug in line, and stay out of Ratchet’s way.”

Hopefully Sunstreaker understood that he did not view him as a slave or an indentured servant.

Simultaneously he sent a private message to Ratchet that Optimus had called him, and to leave further questioning with Sunstreaker until he could return to defuse any offense.

A tirade about Prowl having no input on medical matters echoed through his commline and he cut it off as he headed toward the door.

The larger golden mech sidestepped to block Prowl’s path. 

Prowl matched his glare and hard set jaw with one of his own as he started up at Sunstreaker, “Was part of my order unclear to you Sunstreaker?”

“Clear as pure crystal.” Any developing comfort or relaxation among the Autobots was gone from his frame since Ratchet made the comment on his vocalizer.

Rapid fire clicks and whistles shot out from Sunstreaker’s vocalizer as he looked over Prowl’s shoulder. A deep growl pulsed through the floor from behind Prowl, followed by the clicking of mandibles, and whirring followed by a whine. 

Audial fins rising, Sunstreaker’s optics snapped toward the direction of Ratchet. Harder harsh clicks and whistles emitted from his vocalizer with an accompanying rev of his engine, as if to rub the damage he had done to his vocalizer in the CMO’s face, followed by a sharp snap-hiss-growl toward Bob.

The Insecticon collapsed on the floor with a large vented huffing whine, and Sunstreaker finally looked back to Prowl.

“I follow. My bug will stay out of your healer’s line.” Red optics looked up over Prowl’s shoulder again, his vocalizer grating and skipping in static as he addressed Ratchet directly. “If my youngling dies, my bug will rend your single, lonely spark from your frame and crush it beneath his pedes.”

Prowl couldn’t stop the widening of his optics or the raise of alarm to his sensor panels as he whipped partially back to see Ratchet’s enraged expression, “You do not utter threats in my Medbay! Do you -”

“Not a threat.” Sunstreaker ground out stoically then returned his full attention to Prowl, stepping into his line of view and ignoring the rest of Ratchet’s fury spewing forth as if it didn’t matter. “I am stating truth. My youngling is liked by my bug very much. If he dies I could not stop him even if I could stay.”

“You can stay though. I am ordering you to stay with your youngling.” Prowl commanded as he went to pass again.

“You do _not_ order me in this.” Sunstreaker moved to act as a literal wall before Prowl. His optics hard while refusing to yield, treating Prowl himself as an untamed Insecticon he could bend to his will. “I am your guard. This was exchanged. You stay, or I follow.”

Beyond irritated now, Prowl’s sensor panel’s spiked high and flared on his back.

“I will _not_ be -“

“Go. Get out of my Medbay.” Ratchet stormed toward them. “I’ve had enough of the two of you. I have others to attend to and Sideswipe will remain in stasis for another half an orn yet while his systems integrate. If you _swear_ your bug will not eat him, I will lock the two of them in here until you return.”

Red optics flashed in fury toward the medic, along with a deep rumble from Sunstreaker’s engine.

“He would _never_ eat him.” Sunstreaker all but hissed, “Your worries are broken.”

Ratchet reset his optics at Sunstreaker and peered up at him with a frown. “How many hits to the helm have you taken in the Pits?”

Prowl snapped his fingers between their optical field causing Sunstreaker to start and lock his attention on him and Ratchet to scowl.

“Fine.” Interjecting to take control before the well meaning medic stroked Sunstreaker’s plating the wrong way by making another comment about how he spoke, Prowl voiced his opinion. “Sunstreaker clearly would not endanger Sideswipe if he believed Bob would consume him. Ratchet will seal your youngling in here with your bug. Will Bob attack Ratchet or any other Autobots if he were to do that? Panic to become trapped?”

Sunstreaker glared at Ratchet then looked toward where Bob was watching their exchange and chittered with a deep edge, “He will not.”

Bob’s yellow antenna perked up at his master’s chitter.

And with a few clicks from his master, Bob was chittering in kind as he moved to station himself at the base of Sideswipe’s medberth.

Prowl moved up his alert to speak to Hound and Beachcomber, drafting a message and requesting all the information they held on Insecticons. Because while Bob matched his master’s pitch of his chitter and pace identically in a way that simulated mimicry, Prowl couldn’t shake the nagging prompt from his battle computer that Bob was making the same noise as Sideswipe when he first met them. It sounded vaguely amused.

It was ridiculous. 

Tricks of his cortex, accustom to others unable to tolerate his presence and laughing in his wake that was causing his battle computer to nudge that Bob was laughing at Prowl with his master.

As Sunstreaker followed him stoically through the Autobot’s main compound in Iacon, Red Alert shouted over Prowl’s comms that Prowl had created a security risk and he shut off that commline too.

Halfway to the command center his battle computer replayed Sunstreaker’s answer, that chitter, and compared it to his final question causing Prowl to halt in his tracks and turn toward his golden shadow as his sensor panels flared out in alarm.

“Bob can eat through the operating room door can’t he? He’s not trapped at all.”

Sunstreaker focus flit from regarding his raised sensor panels to Prowl’s face, optics searching as he smirked, “He can but he won’t.”

The dawning dread in Prowl’s spark relaxed a fraction as he turned to continue on to the Prime’s office, battle computer searching again for the best way to explain this situation to Optimus.

Until Sunstreaker’s looming presence was felt between his sensor panels and the mech uttered a single sentence in Prowl’s audial from behind.

“At least not until my youngling wakes up.”

Stated, as sure fact.

Glancing over his shoulder, he found Sunstreaker staring up at a ventilation shaft, audial fins twitching…in agitation? 

“The ventilation system in the Medical Center is a closed system to prevent the spread of contagions. He will not get far.” Prowl offered as comfort, recalling his suspicion that Sunstreaker had hid his youngling in narrow shafts, causing his clogged vents. Perhaps that was where Sideswipe was comfortable if frightened.

Sunstreaker’s engine rumbled, fingers clicking together and he shook his head.

“He will be angry I have stepped him in line with me.”

Something in Sunstreaker’s expression seemed to match Prowl’s own internal impending dread in explaining this situation to Optimus, but that was simply absurd. 

“He is a youngling. I’m certain he will forgive whatever it is you think-”

“You do not understand!” Sunstreaker’s jaw clenched as his plating flared in irritation.

The dataslug recording device on Sunstreaker’s wrist, clicked repeatedly as he worried in and out of its port, optics searching up toward every vent they passed.

Prowl simply waited as it seemed like Sunstreaker was struggling to find the words he needed to express himself. Silence stretched between them. As they passed others, conversations hushed or went internal over comms, Sunstreaker glared at them while furrowing his brow and scowling anytime he looked at Prowl. Perhaps Prowl should not have allowed Sunstreaker to accompany him, Ratchet’s pointed question about helm hits in the Pits added up to potential lost connections in Sunstreaker’s cortex. 

They were three hallways away from the command center when the compulsive clicking of the dataslug stopped and Sunstreaker looked away from the vents from where he was lingering behind, and strode up to match Prowl’s pace.

“You are order.” He stated very seriously and Prowl attempted to not take offense.

“You would not be the first mech to describe me as such.”

Sunstreaker cut him off, blocking his path and stared intently at Prowl’s optics with a slight narrowing of his own. What he was searching for, Prowl had no clue but the gladiator maintained his intense focus as he uttered his final statement as a severe warning.

“My youngling is chaos.”

Prowl had never thought a description of a youngling could linger so ominously in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone poked me on Tumblr during a writing meme about Pupae and I couldn't believe how long it had been since I updated. I swear I had every intention of updating this once a month but time and the narrative style got away from me, hopefully it makes sense. 
> 
> More hive perspectives to chew on, more of Bob's feelings toward Prowl (he REALLY doesn't like you and your arrogant display of flared flightless wings Prowl!) and Bob is just a _tad_ possessive when it comes to his pupae. Especially his wayward golden crystal streaks who gets a little too interested in outsiders beyond what he can use for the survival of hive.
> 
> Next chapter is titled: _Order and Chaos_ , I bet you can guess who is waking up XD


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